Under the Mask
A Spartan, a gypsy—masks for a night pure sex—and the
birthmark which throws all anonymity out the window.
Finally free after a nasty year-long divorce, Kailey Cox
attends a masquerade party with the intention of one
thing—remaining anonymous and finding a handsome man to bed.
She discovers a Spartan warrior to accommodate her.
Rand Paxton is drawn to the sexy gypsy he takes to his room.
Seeing her birthmark, he believes he knows who the woman is.
Confronting her, any doubt fades. Problem: For a man often
in the spotlight and a woman who now prefers anonymity, can
they make it work?
Rand’s up for the challenge—he’d wanted her long before he
discovered Kailey was Under the Mask.
Content below is not
suitable if under 18.
You are officially divorced now and get to find some fine
ass stranger to shake out the cobwebs.”
She almost snorted her drink. “Cobwebs?”
Behind her headgear, which obscured most of her face, Karma
winked. “You’ll remember. It’s like riding a bike.” She
waved a hand around. “Have fun.” Karma blended into the
crowd, leaving her alone along the outskirts.
Part of her wanted to retreat further, like to her room.
This wasn’t her anymore. Brazen and outspoken had not been
her for a while. She preferred the sidelines, the shadows.
But she didn’t run, didn’t hide. She wore a costume. No one
would know her. This was her night.
She had plans to make the best of it. A smile tipped her
red-glossed lips in a satisfactory manner. First, she would
explore this room and mingle. After all, like Karma said,
this was her time now. She was free.
The hotel was magnificent. Lavish ornaments from Asia added
an exotic flare to the place. She mingled, chatted, danced,
and drank. Finally, needing some time to herself, she
stepped outside to get a breather. She stood along a
balcony, trailing her fingers along the smooth marble
balustrade. The night air cooled her heated flesh yet didn’t
“Pray tell, what’s a lovely gypsy woman doing out here all
alone?” A deep voice questioned from behind her.
She’d gotten many compliments on her outfit and tried to
ignore why it was this one, spoken in a seductive and
alluring tone, that affected her more than the others had.
Turning her head, she hesitated, unable to make anyone out.
Maybe she’d had too much to drink and it was her
Pity, for the voice was nice. Deep and raspy, it stroked
along her skin. The reaction it created in her only
solidified the knowledge of her dry spell.
“Looking for me?”
She licked her lips and tilted her head to the side.
Definitely wasn’t her imagination. There was someone out
here with her.
“Well, yes. Unless you are here as the Invisible Man.”
A decadent chuckle. “No.”
“So, are you remaining in the shadows or do I get to see
you?” Seriously, if his body matched his voice, she’d have
died and gone to heaven.
“You’re the gypsy. Can you not tell what’s in my future?”
She smiled and trailed a polished tipped finger along the
rim of her champagne flute. “Of course I know. I don’t give
away fortunes for free, however.”
“Oh, I’m willing to pay.”
She dragged her tongue along her lower lip, set her drink
down, and walked toward where the voice came from. The dark
corner of the balcony. Her gold coins tinkled with
invitation every step she took. She paused and blinked.
“Step into the light.”
There was a whisper of sound and she found herself staring
up at a tall, powerful man clad in a warrior costume. Her
breath left her in a rush as she tried to stifle her
instantaneous and lustful reaction.
A gold helmet covered his head, which, courtesy of the cheek
and nose guard, obscured his features. Muscles were there,
muscles she wanted nothing more than to touch and to feel
surrounding her. A red cape, secured with a gold emblem at
his right shoulder, left his arm bare with the exception of
leather cuffs. He wore no shirt, and she could see his
well-defined abdominals and pectorals. Leather sandals with
wide straps crisscrossed up his powerful calves.
On one side, she could see a shield and a sword hung from
the other. He had smooth copper skin and obsidian hair. Men
in skirts weren’t supposed to look so good. Well,
technically it wasn’t a skirt; it was a wrap, part of his
tunic. Either way, the man looked delicious.
He flowed toward her, stopping when their feet were touching
one another. “Hello, gypsy woman.”
Her belly exploded in a flurry of want and lust. She reached
out and rested her hand against his bared chest. His skin
was warm beneath her palm.
“You know the costume?” He sounded suitably impressed.
“Oh yeah. I came with Artemis, she informed me who everyone
was.” Why tell him she had seen a lot of movies with
Spartans in them when using Artemis as a reason for her
knowledge seemed viable enough? The emblem holding his cape
was a remake of the Spartan shield that bore upon it the
letter lambda, which stood for Lacedaemon.
He stepped closer, brushing more of his hard body against
“What is?” She had a hard time focusing on anything but him.
“That a gypsy would hang with a Greek goddess.”
She tucked a loose curl behind her ear with her right hand
while her left touched his chest. “I am no fool. When she
extended her invitation for me to walk with her, I took it.
I had no wish to be turned into something small and slimy. I
know how to play nice.” He chuckled, a deep and tempting
sound. Her other hand joined the first. Goodness, he was
solid. All over. “Although, I am curious about something.”
She swallowed and licked her lips again. “I know about
kilts, but what do Spartans wear under their wraps?” Her
fingers smoothed along his sides enjoying the taut skin, the
heat of him, and the feel of a man.
“I could tell you. Or.” He leaned down, brushing her cheek
with his own and continued, “I could show you.”
Copyright © Aliyah
All Rights Reserved.